Friday Nights
by AmethystWren
Summary: "It became a weekly thing. Every Friday, Alana showed up with a six-pack full of beer cans and her Netflix login. And every Friday, Freddie would make sure she was stocked up with microwave popcorn. And they'd sit on the sofa, drink the beer and watch a movie, a bowl full of freshly popped popcorn nestled in between them." A fluffly little Frelana one-shot.


**This is my first Hannibal fanfiction. I have a lot of ideas, but I'm terrified of writing them because I don't want to mess the characters up. Even with this, I think they're in character. Mostly. Maybe.**

**This is also my first real attempt at fluffy romance, too.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hannibal. At all. Nope. Or Freddie or Alana, either *cry***

* * *

They found her. After twelve long months of rotting away in that godforsaken pit Graham had tossed her into, they found her.

She was skinny, half-starved, though unlike Miriam Lass (who had of course been in a similar situation), she could boast that all of her limbs were still intact. Her arms, her legs, her neck, all still bore their scars, however, and she knew from experience that they would last a long, long time. The mark she had gained from falling off of her bicycle when she was ten remained even now. She supposed with a sarcastic bitterness that at least now it wouldn't be lonely.

They changed her name. Just to protect her, they say. Freddie Lounds had made herself many enemies, whether deliberately or not, and they wanted to ensure that something as horrible as this never happened to her again. They wanted to make sure she wasn't murdered.

She was allowed to choose her new name. After giving it some thought, she decided upon Gail Abbott, as a tribute to Abigail Hobbs. Since being rescued, she had learnt that Abigail's body had been found at Hannibal Lecter's former residence. Will Graham had been found beside her, having also suffered grievous wounds, and was now at the hospital in an alarmingly deep coma. Jack Crawford, sadly, had not made it.

She had yet to learn about Alana Bloom. She supposed that, had she survived her encounter with Dr. Lecter, she too would have been forced to change her name and go into hiding.

As Gail Abbott, she rented a small flat. She found herself a simple little job stacking shelves at the supermarket. She made enough money to get by, and for a while she considered herself fairly lucky. She no longer looked like a skeleton coated in skin, she had a home to keep her dry when it rained and warm when it snowed, and her nightmares didn't plague her consciousness _every_ night.

Yet she quickly grew bored.

This was not the sort of life she had ever imagined for herself. Even as a child, she'd been incredibly ambitious, always striving to be the very best at everything. Her job at the supermarket was nothing compared to the sneaking around she was used to doing, the gossip and rumours she was so fond of spreading, the truth she had always wanted so much to reveal to the world.

Gail Abbott spent her days putting things onto shelves. Be it boxes of cereal, bottled water, packs of toilet roll- from nine in the morning until five in the evening, that was what she did.

And she hated it.

Still, she couldn't complain. She was alive. She was moderately well. She'd been better, of course, back when her body wasn't laced with scars and her mind wasn't plagued by nightmares, but she was okay. Which was more than she could say for Abigail Hobbs.

It was as she was stacking shelves one day that Gail spotted a familiar face.

Unsure of whether or not she had imagined it, Gail continued to pile loaves of bread from her trolley onto their shelf. A tapping on her shoulder eased any doubt, and she ceased with her work.

"I thought you were dead." Said coral pink lips, as blue eyes widened slightly with surprise.

"Long time no see, Dr. Bloom." Gail responded. "How's your back?"

"Sore," She replied, "Better, but sore. And it's Avaline now. Avaline Brookes."

"Gail," The redhead held out a free hand for 'Avaline Brookes' to shake. "Gail Abbott."

She saw the recognition in Avaline's blue eyes, knew that she'd noticed where the inspiration for her new name had come from, though nothing more was said on the subject.

"I decided to keep my initials the same." 'Avaline' explained. "It means that I don't have to put new labels in all my things."

"Clever," Gail commented. Personally, she'd never really bothered with labelling things. Too much hassle.

"I'll let you get on with... this..." She waved her hand at the half-empty bread shelf. "We need to meet up at some point though. I've missed having someone to talk to who understands."

"I'm free Friday." Gail said. "My flat is just round the corner."

"I think I know the complex." 'Aveline' nodded and smiled. "See you Friday."

* * *

It became a weekly thing.

Every Friday, 'Aveline' showed up with a six-pack full of beer cans and her Netflix login. And every Friday, 'Gail' would make sure she was stocked up with microwave popcorn. And they'd sit on the sofa, drink the beer and watch a movie, a bowl full of freshly popped popcorn nestled in between them and, when it was empty (save for those few unpopped kernels one always seems to end up with), set down on the floor by their feet.

It was the greatest relief for the both of them, as alone together they could let their aliases drop. 'Gail' had forgotten how much she missed being called Freddie, and despite not going by that name for nearly a year now, she found it slipped back into place like a pair of much-loved pyjamas.

It was after a few months of this arrangement that Alana fell asleep mid-movie. She'd made no secret of the fact that she was tired, yawning frequently and explaining to Freddie within ten minutes of her arrival that she hadn't had much sleep the night before. Still, never had she actually fallen asleep during one of their Friday movie sessions until that night.

Freddie was so engrossed in their film that she didn't even realise Alana wasn't watching until her head dropped, landing on Freddie's shoulder.

Hoping that perhaps Alana might wake up of her own accord, Freddie didn't shift her friend off of her. Soon enough, the credits began to play, and Alana was still out cold.

Easing Alana off of her, Freddie lay her down on the sofa and left, returning a few minutes later with a spare blanket to drape over her.

After that, the sleeping over became intentional. Alana would supply the drinks, as per usual, however now she would also arrive with a small overnight bag containing pyjamas and a toothbrush.

The film would end, and Freddie would fetch the spare blanket. Alana would then have the whole sofa to herself for the rest of the night, whilst Freddie would retire to her bedroom.

Of course, with all that they'd been through, neither woman was without her nightmares. After one particularly horrid dream, Freddie found herself unable to get back to sleep.

Having spent an hour trying in vain to do so, the redhead rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. In her other life, she would have used this as an opportunity to get some writing done, but Gail Abbott wasn't a journalist. Gail Abbott didn't write articles about serial killers at ungodly hours of the morning. And like it or not, Freddie Lounds was dead.

She did not like having to remind herself of this fact, but knew it was necessary nonetheless.

She was surprised to find the kitchen light was already on. It took her but a moment to spot Alana, stirring a mug of coffee. Upon hearing her enter, the brunette almost dropped her spoon.

"The kettle's just boiled." Alana told her.

"Thanks," Freddie grabbed a mug from the appropriate cupboard and put in four heaped teaspoons of cocoa powder before joining Alana over at the counter and filling her own cup with steaming hot water.

"Couldn't sleep?" Freddie guessed, glancing over at Alana as she stirred her hot chocolate.

Alana shook her head, her dark tangles (sleeping on the sofa always seemed to rough her hair up) bouncing slightly with the motion.

"Me neither," Freddie said with a sigh, setting her spoon down on the side and wrapping her hands around the cup, using it to warm her still-shaking hands.

Alana took a sip of her coffee and immediately bit her lip; clearly it was too hot. Freddie laughed at her expression, found herself being batted lightly on the shoulder.

"Stop it." Perhaps Alana's scolding would have been taken more seriously was she not smiling. "I burnt my tongue."

"Sugar," Freddie replied. Upon seeing her friend's puzzled expression, she realised she was going to need to explain herself. "Eat a teaspoon of sugar. It'll help. Trust me."

Alana seemed sceptical, but nevertheless she took her stirring spoon from before and dunked it in the sugar jar, scooping some out and placing it in her mouth.

She swallowed, and her eyes widened with pleasant surprise. Freddie tried not to focus too much on her tongue as it slipped out of her mouth, catching the sugar crystals that hadn't quite made it and had instead gathered on Alana's pink lips.

"It worked." Alana beamed, drawing Freddie's attention away from her mouth. "It actually worked."

"Of course it worked." Freddie said, feigning offence. "Don't you believe me?"

"You're hardly the most trustworthy person in the world, Miss Lounds." Alana pointed out.

The accusation stung. It was true, there was no doubting that, but still somehow it hurt.

* * *

Another nightmare woke Freddie, though this time not one of her own.

Her shoulders were shaken forcibly by a terrified Alana. Even in the darkness, Freddie could pick out how pale her face was, how wide and afraid her eyes.

"What is it?" Freddie whispered, sitting up. Already she feared the worst.

Alana stood beside her bed, looking down at her hands in a manner that seemed almost ashamed. "I had a nightmare."

Knowing the fear that haunts a person after such an occurrence all too well, Freddie slid out of bed and began to make for the door.

"Come on," She said, stopping and turning when she realised that Alana wasn't following her. "I'll make you a coffee."

But Alana shook her head. "I don't feel like coffee."

"Well then I don't know what else to do." Freddie replied honestly. Everyone copes with these things differently, and the only method she'd ever known her friend to practice was making herself a warm mug of coffee. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I fell." Alana recalled. "I fell again, only this time you pushed me. You pushed me and I-" She let out a sob which, once released, paved the way for another, and another. "I know you wouldn't but..." She trailed off, looking up at Freddie for the first time since she'd awoken her. "I just felt so scared. And so... So _betrayed_."

She'd never really been one for hugs, but now Freddie seemed to have found herself in a situation where it was inescapable. Crossing back over to her bedside, she pulled Alana into a tight cuddle, rubbing her back soothingly and letting her cry into her shoulder.

"It's alright." Freddie murmured reassuringly. "It's alright. It was just a dream. I'm here. You're alright."

* * *

Their first kiss (if it could really be called that) was an accident.

Freddie was reaching across Alana for the remote, and Alana was reaching across Freddie to grab a second cushion for her back, and somehow their faces had sort of smushed together.

It was rather painful, though of course they'd both had far worse.

Alana wrinkled her nose and commented on the fact that it was likely to bruise, and Freddie reached up a hand to prod her right cheek tentatively. She too could already feel a bruise forming.

She did not say anything about the fact that her lower lip tingled slightly, just where it had briefly brushed against Alana's. As it turned out, she didn't need to.

Alana gaze flickered from Freddie's mouth back up to her eyes. A slight blush on her cheeks, she turned to face the television, apparently hoping that if she pretended to be thoroughly interested in their film the incident might be forgotten.

But Freddie Lounds was never one to let things drop so easily.

Their second kiss was therefore not an accident at all.

Instigated that very same night by a certain former journalist, the pair found themselves quite distracted from the second half of their film.

Freddie buried her hands in Alana's soft hair, her fingers catching in the dark brown tangles created by the sofa cushions. And she was conscious always of Alana's hands on her shoulders, her back, her face.

They were shocked out of their little make-out session by the loud twanging first note of the credits as their film officially came to a close.

Pulling herself off of Alana, Freddie grabbed the remote and flicked off the tv.

"Well," She said, looking over at her... _friend_? Somehow it no longer seemed like the right word.

"Well," Alana repeated.

"I should get some sleep." Freddie decided. "You should, too."

"I couldn't agree more." Alana agreed, grabbing Freddie's collar with both hands and pulling her into another kiss.

They both slept on the sofa that night, arms wrapped around each-other, Alana's face buried in the crick of Freddie's neck.

Upon waking the next morning, they learned that such a sleeping arrangement was not a good idea. Alana's neck was stiff due to the angle she'd been lying, and Freddie's left arm was completely numb.

From the following week onwards, they shared the bed instead.


End file.
